Those Who Speak
by Sentimental Star
Summary: Edmund never met the White Witch. He found out about her from Mr. Tumnus on Lucy’s second visit. He’s also mute...--Siblingfic. Book and Moviebased.--
1. Prologue: The Stolen Voice

_**Disclaimer:**_ I own nothing in this marvelous universe; it all belongs to C.S. Lewis.

_**Author's Note:**_ :heaves a huge sigh: _Finally_. I found the Bible quote I was looking for, and honestly, it's a critical one to this story. You'll see why.

Furthermore, the problems I've been having with my account are fixed, and honestly, they weren't that bad at all :shakes head in amused self-reproof:. So I'm staying with this account for now, although I might change it at a later date.

I don't have my _LWW_ DVD, yet, unfortunately :pouts: I have to wait another week or so, but I _did_ want to get at least the Prologue out, and I'll divide postings between this and _Nighttime Demons_ (as well as, perhaps, a few one-shots in-between), so this story's updates might be a little slow coming. At any rate, I hope you enjoy!

_**Rating:**_ PG

_**Summary:**_ Edmund never met the White Witch. He found out about her from Mr. Tumnus on Lucy's second visit. He's also mute...(Book and Moviebased)

"**Speech"**

**/Personal Thoughts/**

'_**Sign Language**_**'**

_Those Who Speak_

_By Sentimental Star_

_Prologue: The Stolen Voice_

* * *

_**He has done all things well. He makes the deaf hear and the mute speak. --Mark 7:37**_

* * *

(Four Years Ago)

"I'm afraid there's nothing to be done," the doctor's voice was muffled behind the door against which the three siblings had pressed themselves. "Only a miracle will be able to restore it. As of right now, Mr. and Mrs. Pevensie, your son will be unable to speak. Take him to any physician or therapist you wish, and they will all tell you the same. The fever has too badly damaged his vocal chords. I'm sorry."

There was a few long, awful seconds of silence, and then the three children heard the doctor's footsteps crossing the floor of their six-year-old brother's room to the door.

As the wooden door was pulled open, and the last of the doctor's orders were given, nine-year-old Peter, eight-year-old Susan, and four-year-old Lucy (courtesy of her older sister) all hastily stumbled away from the entrance.

The doctor emerged from the room only moments later, tall and daunting and terrifying dressed in his dark gray overcoat. At least to Peter who, as the oldest, understood the entire conversation far better than his parents undoubtedly would have liked.

His baby brother, _mute_? Impossible!

But as the doctor caught sight of the three siblings standing close together in the upstairs hall, varying degrees of fright in their eyes, and quickly turned away, Peter felt a leaden weight settle in his stomach.

There was a small tug on his sleeve. Dully, he glanced down at Lucy. "P'ter! P'ter! What's he mean?"

She looked terrified. But Peter could only shake his head, looking back into the room. Stricken.

Their parents followed the doctor to the door where their mother remained standing in the doorway, gazing after his retreating back with a look of utter shock and grief upon her face as their father came forward and crouched in front of them, smiling sadly.

"Daddy?" Peter finally managed, voice tight.

Susan clutched Lucy's hand, face very white.

Their father reached out to lightly ruffle his hair, before forcing some cheer into his smile, glancing at all of them. "Would you like to see your brother now? You can. He won't be able to talk with you, but he can listen. How about it, hmm?"

None of the three children moved, not even Lucy.

Their father's smile dropped. "Well don't you?" he asked quietly, something very close to fear in his eyes.

Peter bit his lip. "Is…Is…He's going to talk again, right, Daddy? He's going to talk again. This…this is just because of his fever, right?"

His eyes begged his father to lie, to agree with him, to say everything was going to be okay and nothing would change. Deep down, however, deep, deep down, he knew it would. It _would_ change, and nothing would ever be completely okay again.

And Daddy saw that in his face. Dropping his own blue eyes, their father whispered, "I don't know, Peter."

There was a sudden sob from their mother, and she abruptly rushed from the doorway of Edmund's room and down the hall to hers and Daddy's own, hand covering her mouth.

Daddy started to his feet, calling anxiously, "_Helen_!" before sprinting after her. The doorway to the grown-ups' room slammed shut behind him.

And it was their parents' reactions more than anything else which told them the truth: their brother would never be able to speak again.

In the next moment, several things happened at once.

Lucy, even at only four, had understood, and jerking her hand out of Susan's, ran into the room to Edmund, tears streaming freely down her cheeks. Dimly, Peter saw her scramble up onto Edmund's bed and throw her short little arms around his neck, sobbing.

Susan, beside him, gave a funny little cry, before whirling, and fleeing into the room she and Lucy shared, slamming the door shut behind her.

And Peter, in a painful daze, somehow managed to get himself to the threshold of his little brother's room. There he froze, unable to muster the willpower and courage to enter.

He swallowed, eyesight blurring, as he dizzily watched the two youngest cry together (for Edmund, he realized, had heard everything).

His hands clenched tightly in his sleeves, 'til the knuckles were nearly white, and heat spilled down his cheeks as he continued to watch, a small sob making it past his lips.

Edmund's own cries were silent.

_Tbc._


	2. Watcher, Protector, and Comforter

_**Disclaimer:**_I own nothing in this marvelous universe; it all belongs to C.S. Lewis.

_**Author's Note:**_ All right, since I've gotten such wonderful reviews for the Prologue of this story, I figured I'd be a nice authoress and post the actual first chapter. On the same day, too:grins: Can't say I wasn't wanting, too, either. So reviewers, this is dedicated to you.

_**Reviewers:**_ All _14_ of you, thank you!

Edmund's Character: I know several of you have been asking after this, and I know many more of you are wondering if he'll still retain some of his "snarkiness," even though he's missing his voice. Never fear, I'll still keep his smart-ass self in there as well as I can. He's found a "voice" as you'll see below. Just not in the conventional sense. I also know you're wondering if he betrays his siblings, even though he can't speak. The answer to that is in the summary—and that's all I'm going to say :winks:. This Edmund, however, is the more thoughtful sort, on account of his being unable to speak. Consequently, he might not react to some situations in the same way as you might imagine. But read on, and see what you think!

Format of Story: No flashbacks as of right now, although I might change that in a later chapter. The only real "flashback" so far is the Prologue, because it sets up the entire premise for the story—keep that in mind! The rest of the story is pretty straightforward, told in the way of both books and movie, along with my own necessary addends. Hope you enjoy!

Aslan and Edmund: :mischievous smile: Wait and see.

"**Speech"**

**/Personal Thoughts/**

'_**Sign Language'**_

_Those Who Speak_

_By Sentimental Star_

_Chapter One: The Watcher, the Protector, and the Comforter_

(Present Time, Evening)

Ten years of age, lithe, and just starting to grow into his legs, Edmund Pevensie slowly and painfully walked home along the sidewalk.

Although "walking" was a relative term.

It was twilight now. Mum had sent him to the post office to pick up rations coupons.

The Postmaster—a jolly, elderly gentleman—knew of his condition, and so, had been more than willing to help him.

Edmund frowned, even though his muscles protested, face dark. He didn't like thinking of it that way, as a "condition." Made it sound like he had some horrible, incurable disease.

And while (as far as he knew) it _was_ incurable, it certainly was _not_ a disease. Nor was it so horrible anymore, either.

After four years, he had learned to live with it. The first few months after his fever had been awful, but then he had found he could speak with his hands. Sign language, his tutor had called it.

Still, he had found something of a voice again, and he could always write.

Sign language and writing, however, could not keep the bullies away.

Edmund grimaced, very aware of the pain currently shooting through his body—a vivid reminder of the altercation that had occurred a couple of blocks from the Post Office.

When he had emerged from the building, three boys—all older, taller, and bigger than Edmund—had been lurking in the lengthening shadows. They were from his neighborhood, home for the summer holidays from boarding school. He even thought one or two of them went to the same school as his older brother, Peter.

They were of the nasty, brutish sort, and all but one (the leader) were more brawn than brains.

They had followed him, and at an isolated part of the park, had cornered him…and demanded his family's coupons. Edmund, knowing they would not leave without them, had discreetly tucked them away in an inner pocket of his light coat.

There was no way he would have given up those coupons. His family needed them far too much.

The three older boys had taken to taunting him. Jeering at him. And more.

Edmund, of course unable to retort, had only been able to glare hotly back, standing his ground.

The leader had taken his silence as a personal insult, although all three knew quite well _why_ he was unable to speak. They'd lived in Finchley just as long as he and his siblings had.

Consequently, fists had flown, and not necessarily Edmund's.

The three had let off him when a police cab had screamed by, mistaking it for an air raid siren and—

Air raid siren…

Suddenly, Edmund felt quite sure it was neither his imagination nor his memory that was currently causing that same wailing to split the air now.

With a pained grimace, he started walking faster, noticing he was still three blocks from his neighborhood…and the nearest bomb shelter (that he knew of anyway).

Then he heard it—the low whine of aircraft engines in the distance. And explosions. There were explosions. And they were coming nearer.

Suddenly, running did not seem like such a bad idea.

So he ran, sprinting with all his might down the sidewalk and trying desperately to ignore the fiery pain shooting through his body with every quickened step.

The ground trembled and shook as he ran, the airplanes drawing nearer every second, dropping their deadly cargo.

The explosions were coming closer. One nearby abruptly caused the ground to upheave.

With a soundless cry, Edmund was sent staggering forward. His foot collided with a buckled slab of the sidewalk and he went pitching forward, losing his balance. With another cry as the sidewalk rushed up to meet him, he threw his arms up in an attempt to shield his already bruised face. Once panicked thought flashed across his mind: /I'm going to die!/

However, he never made it that far. About halfway into his fall, strong arms suddenly grabbed him around his shoulders. He was given a hard shake, "Ed! What are you doing! We have to get to the shelter!" yelled over the sound of bombs being dropped.

Utterly startled, and momentarily forgetting the state his face was in, Edmund's head jumped up and he gaped at the taller boy in front of him. /Peter!/

His older brother apparently didn't notice the shape he was in, yet. The ten-year-old's hand was seized and he found himself jerked forward. "Come on!"

The tore down the sidewalk in the direction of their home, his thirteen-year-old brother's longer legs eating up the distance as Edmund struggled to keep up.

The bombers drew much nearer, and explosions shattered the evening air. The acrid scent of smoke drifted over the houses, and the entire evening sky lit up with jagged, dangerous light.

They kept running.

Two minutes from their home, the fearful whistling which would haunt Edmund's nightmares for years to come suddenly seemed a great deal closer than he thought safe.

Apparently, Peter did, too.

"Get down!" the older boy cried, flinging them to the ground behind a low hedge and throwing himself over Edmund.

The ten-year-old cried out silently as his abused body hit the ground far harder than he would have liked. And his brother's heavier form on top of him did not help matters any.

Edmund's eyes went wide as his face was pushed into Peter's shoulder. /What's he _doing_?/ he thought in a panic, shoving ineffectually at his older brother's chest.

Peter remained quite firmly on top of him.

Before his struggles could get anymore frantic, an explosion merely a block over rocked the air. Edmund screamed wordlessly into the thirteen-year-old's shoulder, clutching at his brother's shirt, as rocks and rubble and debris pelted the ground around them.

The sirens kept wailing.

Before he could so much as let out a gasp, Peter leapt to his feet and snatched him off the ground, dashing headlong through their open garden gate and into their house's backyard, still carrying Edmund.

He heard a gasp as he felt Peter glance over his shoulder behind them and start sprinting harder, arrowing for the shelter.

The bombers sounded like they were directly overhead.

"_PETER_!"

Their mother's yell came from immediately in front of them.

Edmund tried to pull his face away from his older brother's shoulder. Peter wouldn't let him.

There was a sensation of flying. A semi-soft landing. And then the door to the shelter slammed shut.

A match was struck. Against him, Edmund could feel Peter's shoulders and chest heaving. Against his ear, he could hear his older brother's wild heartbeat. His pants for air filled the shelter.

Peter, Edmund realized, was scared.

"What were you _doing_, lollygagging like that?" the older boy demanded, abruptly pulling back and clearly restraining himself from shaking his younger brother again. "You…you could have gotten _killed_!"

Edmund scowled in the half-light of the shelter. Grabbing his older brother's hand, he started signing furiously into his palm, _'I was not "lollygagging," Peter! Does "Jamison" clear things up?'_

"Jamison" was the leader of the three bullies. Anthony Jamison. He was pretty certain said bully went to Peter's boarding school. His brother, at any rate, knew exactly who he was talking about.

The thirteen-year-old's frightened, angry expression dropped altogether, and his face was flooded with concern as he more closely examined his little brother in the flickering half-light. Gingerly, he touched Edmund's split lip and bruised jaw. "What was it this time? Do you need any ointment or cream? Are you bleeding?" his voice had softened now, and sheer worry had interwoven itself into his words.

Edmund sighed loudly in exasperation and batted away Peter's hands as his older brother went to pull up his shirt and vest, intent on examining his torso. Once more taking the other boy's hand, he slowly and deliberately signed, _'They. Are. Just. Bruises. I. Am. Perfectly. Fine.'_

And with that, still rather annoyed, he dropped his brother's hand and stood with a soft huff from where they had apparently landed on one of the mattresses on the floor.

He hissed and gritted his teeth as pain once again shot through his body, causing him to waver slightly on his feet.

Trust Peter to notice.

"Ed?" he asked worriedly, quickly standing to his own and grasping the younger boy's arm.

Edmund cast him a smoldering glare and jerked his arm away, deliberately turning his back and marching over to their mother. On the three second walk from Peter to Mum, a bit of his fury cooled.

Pulling out the rations coupons and handing them over to his mother, he dropped a quick kiss on her forehead to wipe the worried expression off her face before turning and tossing himself down on a nearby bunk, scowling at nothing in particular. Shrugging out of his coat, he chucked it—a little harder than he ought—into the corner of the bed.

By that point he was merely annoyed with his older brother, and very much frustrated with himself.

He knew Peter simply wanted to protect him, and was well aware the older boy felt he ought to protect him most of all, on account of his "condition," but good grief! He wasn't an invalid and was fully capable of taking care of himself if he had to!

Edmund's scowl twisted into a darker one. It wasn't fair! He may have learned to live with it, but under no circumstances did he have to be _happy_ about it!

"Edmund?" there was a whisper at his elbow and a small prod in his side. "Edmund!" hissed. "Come on, scoot over." There was another prod.

In spite of his current mood, Edmund couldn't help the grin that dramatically transformed his face. /Lucy/ he thought happily. Trust his little sister to come just at the right moment.

Gladly, he pushed closer to the wall, making room for her in his bunk beside him.

He looked up at her as she climbed in, his grin widening. Lucy returned it as she happily settled beside him, taking his hand.

All his siblings had learned to sign, so they might understand him. Lucy had picked it up the quickest, and was often the only one to use it. Peter sometimes signed back, but mostly chose to speak aloud, instead. Susan never signed back. She always spoke.

And Edmund didn't mind. Usually. But it was nice when his siblings communicated with him in the only way that was available to him (because writing during a conversation really wasn't very practical).

Edmund's smile dropped and turned into a frown as his thoughts returned to his older brother. He was still annoyed with Peter.

'_What's wrong?'_ Lucy signed into his hand, jolting him back to the present, noticing his change in mood.

The ten-year-old sighed softly and signed back, _'I could just about murder Peter.'_

The younger girl giggled quietly, then looked thoughtful. _'He was just scared, Eddy. You didn't see his face when Mummy told him you went to get the coupons. She didn't want him to leave, but he left anyway, even when she yelled at him to come back.'_

Edmund thought that now probably wasn't the time to tell his younger sister that wasn't it. But, as he reflected further on her words, he realized he was more than just annoyed with Peter for being overprotective. His older brother had quite clearly shown that he would rather be hurt _instead_ of Edmund. Hadn't he proven that when they were running from the fighters?

Had things gone even more wrong, he realized with a lurch of his stomach, Peter could have _died_.

Suddenly, he couldn't be quite so angry anymore.

Reluctantly, he glanced over Lucy's head at their older brother who was sitting next to Susan across the shelter floor in the girls' bunk. His hands were clasped together underneath his knees which had been pulled to his chest, and he was watching Edmund with what could only be described as hurt in his eyes.

Abruptly, he noticed the younger boy looking at him and, eyes widening, he quickly glanced down, pretending to read Susan's book over her shoulder.

Edmund lightly bit his lip and looked away, feeling rather guilty.

He had to smile, however, when he noticed Lucy giving a small yawn and snuggling closer to him.

Managing a fond chuckle, he gently smoothed her hair and signed, _'How is it you can always make everything better?'_

Lucy grinned sleepily and slowly signed back, eyes starting to flutter shut, _'You…You're welcome.'_

Chuckling again, Edmund gave her forehead a warm kiss before tenderly settling an arm around her shoulders. The eight-year-old sighed contently and snuggled into his chest.

A few minutes later, she had fallen asleep, leaving him to his thoughts.

Those thoughts mostly revolved around Peter.

He supposed he should be grateful that his older brother cared enough about him that he would be willing to die for him. But right now, he felt rather scared at the thought.

As much as he might be unhappy with Peter's mollycoddling, it had worked. The older boy saw it as his responsibility to protect his siblings, and well, Edmund saw him as a protector. Just the same as he saw Lucy as a comforter.

That was his job. He was the watcher.

He noticed things that his siblings didn't necessarily want him to. He knew when Peter was uncertain, when Susan felt vulnerable, when Lucy was frightened, and a great deal more besides. He knew when Mother cried, or when Peter tried to hide that he had been injured. He knew when Lucy had been bullied or Susan spent hours in their father's study.

These things he knew, because being unable to speak, he had taken to observing, watching those most central to his life.

Little hints, things they were not necessarily aware of themselves, tipped him off. So he comforted Lucy, made sure Peter treated his injuries, got Susan a cup of tea and sat with her, or ensured Mother rested.

That was his job.

As things quieted down in the shelter—Susan putting away her book, Mum turning down the kerosene lamp—Edmund felt sleep beginning to creep up on him.

He must have almost fallen asleep when a soft sound broke the silence of the shelter and intruded into his hazing thoughts.

Sleepily, he propped himself up on one elbow and first glanced to Lucy. She was sound asleep beside him in the bunk, hand curled underneath her cheek, and the tiniest of smiles gracing her lips.

Edmund grinned slightly, before raising his head to track a path across the shelter floor.

Peter was still awake, sitting up beside Susan who had since lain down and fallen asleep herself. He hugged his knees to his chest, gazing off disconsolately into the distance.

To Edmund, he looked terribly forlorn and lonely. A single tear suddenly sparkled in the dim light and slid down his cheek.

The ten-year-old caught in his breath. /Did I…/

Peter sniffed quietly, brushing at his cheeks as several more tears slid down to sparkle in the dim light.

Edmund bit his lip again. /Peter…/

Carefully, he crept over Lucy and, swinging his legs over the bunk's side, slipped lightly to his feet.

Turning, he made sure the blankets were tucked snugly around his little sister before he slowly and near-silently made his way across the shelter to Peter.

He froze about three-quarters of the way across the floor as his older brother gave another sniff, then dropped his head against his knees, his grip on them tightening briefly.

By this point, Edmund was aware of the distinct lump in his throat. Forcing himself to move, he quietly padded the rest of the distance to Peter.

Either his stealth skills had improved or Peter was too upset to notice, but his brother made no indication he detected Edmund's movement.

So when the ten-year-old knelt in front of him and lightly touched his wrist, the older boy barely managed to smother a startled yelp, tumbling backwards onto his elbows.

Surprised, he quickly looked up…before hurriedly scrubbing his tears away. "Ed," he managed, voice cracking, as he immediately sat up again.

His younger brother kept worrying his bottom lip. Gently taking Peter's hand, Edmund signed, _'I'm sorry.'_

Peter blinked at him rapidly for a few seconds, before signing back haltingly, _'It's…it's all right. It wasn't…your fault. I…was just upset, Ed. I want to protect you…is all.'_

'_I'm fine, Peter,'_ the other boy signed in reply, a small smile gracing his lips.

The thirteen-year-old lightly squeezed his hand, giving his own—somewhat faint—smile. "I know," he murmured. "I'm sorry."

Edmund's smile grew and, reaching up, he reassuringly patted his brother's cheek, eliciting a reluctant chuckle from the older boy.

The younger took Peter's hand again, signing, _'Will you come sleep now?'_

"What do you mean, 'come'?" the older boy whispered.

Edmund rolled his eyes, tugging insistently at his brother's hand as he stood again. Bewildered, Peter followed suite, ducking low to avoid bashing his forehead against the bunk he and Susan had been sitting under.

The ten-year-old gently dragged Peter back over to the bunk where Lucy lay, still sleeping. Once they reached it, he released the older boy's hand and clambered into the bunk beside their younger sister, carefully shifting her closer to the wall. Laying down next to her, he put his arms gently around her waist and, turning slightly, shot an expectant look up at their older brother.

Peter, where he stood, started a bit before chuckling softly, "All right, Ed, all right." Gingerly, he slipped in underneath the covers beside Edmund and draped his arms over the two youngest.

The ten-year-old gave him a brilliant, albeit sleepy smile, and turned his head back to Lucy. A few minutes later, Edmund's breathing started evening out. Just before he fell asleep, the younger boy felt fingers play across his back. It took him a moment, but he finally recognized that his brother was signing, _'Good night, Ed.'_

-I-I-I-I-I-I-I-I-I-I-

Helen Pevensie smiled wearily as her two sons at last drifted off. Standing from where she had been sitting against the wall of the shelter, she set aside her needle and the shirt she had been mending. Quietly, she made her rounds to check on her children, giving each a kiss on the forehead. Then she settled down in the bunk next to her oldest daughter, smile fading as she fell into an exhausted slumber.

_Tbc._


	3. Innocents

_**Disclaimer:**_ I own nothing in this marvelous universe; it all belongs to C.S. Lewis.

_**Author's Note:**_ Hi, everyone! Thank you for being so patient :grins:. I know several people have been asking after an update on this story, so here it is! Enjoy!

_**Reviewers:**_ All _36_ of you, thank you!

Signing Into Siblings' Hands: :sheepish smile: I know about what happened with Helen Keller, and no, Edmund is not deaf as well. I included that type of signing in the shelter because they cannot see very well, and in order for his siblings to understand, and for Edmund himself to understand Lucy (and Peter), they would likely need to sign into each others' hands. There is also the fact that by signing into Peter's hand, his brother can better understand Edmund. Lucy is nearly—if not _as_—fluent as Edmund is in Sign Language. Peter…not so much. He understands it, and he _can_ sign, but it is usually easier for him to speak. I hope that clears it up—besides which, Edmund will only use that type of signing very rarely. Only if the situation calls for it.

Susan: Don't worry, I have a reason for making her character the way it is. You'll see what I mean in later chapters :grins:.

White Witch: Edmund does _not_ meet her in this story face to face when he first comes to Narnia. You'll see what I mean in a couple of chapters :winks:.

_**Many Thanks:**_ _wild wolf free17, Star Fata, Bluebird757, Kaydon, Wide eyes afeared, straitjackit, Almyra, Grim Lupine, Stormythomas, SugarHighNutcase, Kal's Gal, classacte, Morwen Pallanen, TimeMage0955, Jenn1, Boleyn, Frangipanigirl, Sara Wolfe, Capegio, Samantha, _and _Sera and Tails_

"**Speech"**

**/Personal Thoughts/**

'_**Sign Language'**_

_Those Who Speak_

_By Sentimental Star_

_Chapter Two: Innocents_

(Three Days Later, Victoria Station)

Edmund had never liked the city. London proper was always too crowded, too noisy, too dirty, too large. And, when he was younger, too frightening.

Ever since he had permanently lost his voice, traveling into the city had become his least favorite pastime.

No one here knew how to treat him, save his family. He always received queer looks when his siblings spoke and he did not, when he signed and his siblings (except, of course, Lucy) did not. Grown-ups either spoke slowly and deliberately to him, as if he were some sort of idiot, or else not at all. Other children, more often than not, giggled or pointed at him, or else completely ignored him.

That usually riled up Peter, and made Edmund himself distinctly uncomfortable. People like that learned very early on not to cross his older brother when it came to the subject of the ten-year-old's lost voice. Not to mention Lucy, or even Susan. It was still an extremely sensitive topic in the Pevensie family.

Today, however, Edmund was grateful for the crowded train station. It meant no one paid him any mind.

Not that they would. Everywhere, crying mothers, crying children, hugged, kissed, and said good-bye. Older siblings were charged with the care of younger siblings and only children were told over and over, "Now, you must be sure to get off here at such-and-such a stop. Look for so-and-so who is wearing/holding this and that."

Their own mother had just finished going through that litany with Peter and Susan, and was now tying an identification tag to Lucy's traveling coat.

The younger girl sniffled, looking at their mother with large, frightened eyes. Mother tried to smile reassuringly at her. "You need to keep this on, darling. Are you warm enough?" At Lucy's small nod, she smiled a bit wider. "Good girl."

Lucy gave another sniff, rubbing her nose and tightening her hold on her stuffed bear.

Mum leaned forward, hugging the eight-year-old, "Be brave, sweetheart."

Lucy returned the hug tightly, and several minutes passed before she let go, looking up with uncertain, scared eyes at Edmund. He tried to smile at her, but didn't quite make it. She could only give a tiny smile in response, squeezing her bear close.

Mum knelt in front of him next, and tied his own tag to his coat. She looked like she was trying very hard not to cry.

Edmund lightly tapped her shoulder.

Mother looked up at him, attempting another smile. "Hmm?"

Concern in his dark eyes, he started signing to her, _'Are you going to be all right with us gone?'_

Their mother's jaw tightened visibly, and she leaned forward to give the ten-year-old an extremely tight embrace.

Even after all these years, Edmund was still the only one of her children that she let see her cry. Now, as she pressed her face to his shoulder, her own trembling slightly, she clung to him as he softly patted her back.

After only a few more minutes, she pulled away and signed to him (for, of course, she'd learned to sign as well as her husband), _'No. But I will manage, love. You __**will**__ listen to your brother, won't you, Edmund?'_

Edmund hesitated, before nodding slowly. _'Of course.'_

'_Make sure you help him, Edmund. You know how he can get. Make sure he eats, gets proper sleep, and…'_

Edmund chuckled. _'I promise, Mum.'_

'_Please don't get too angry with him if he seems a little overbearing at points. This won't be easy for him. You'll have your sisters, too.'_

The younger boy frowned slightly, but sighed, nodding again and quirking a sort of half-smile up at Peter who was fussing with the tickets. It was unexpected enough that the older boy halted his fumbling and blinked at Edmund in surprise.

His little brother merely turned back to their mother and kissed her cheek.

She gave him a somewhat watery smile, before quickly brushing away the few tears that had fallen and straightening her back, chin lifting slightly.

And Edmund had to give a tiny smile of his own. She _would_ be all right. She _had_ to be. She was so strong…

Their mother gently squeezed his shoulder before turning to Peter. Edmund swallowed and watched, rubbing his arms as if chilled, as without much more than a glance between them, Peter and Mum hugged each other close.

"Promise me you'll watch out for the others?" she whispered.

The thirteen-year-old clenched his eyes shut, clinging to her. "I will, Mum," he choked out.

A few seconds later, their mother stepped back, visibly acknowledging him as…"Good man," she murmured.

And Edmund swallowed again, wondering suddenly where his brother had gone. For the young man that straightened before their mother seemed so much older than Peter ought to be.

Then Mum turned to Susan who already had a few tears trickling down her cheeks but attempted a brave smile. "Susan," she whispered, and held her arms out.

The older girl choked and went forward to hug her. Mum started vigorously rubbing her back as Susan's shoulders started trembling. "Be a big girl," she hushed her.

Susan stepped back and nodded, smiling again. And Edmund received the uncomfortable impression that Susan had gone beyond the line of childhood as well. Not that she hadn't been trying to for the past year or so. Even Peter was like that now sometimes. /Because of this bloody war./ Edmund thought, face darkening as he looked at a poster which proclaimed "Help Our Children!"

It had taken their father, and now, it looked to be taking their older siblings, as well. He didn't _want_ to go, but knew he had to. Mother said they must, after all. He didn't think he could stand to be parted from his siblings, at any rate, and that particularly _with_ this war going on. It was already bad enough when Peter and Susan went off to boarding school, although, then at least, he had Lucy…

Their mother glanced around at all four of them one last time, eyes lingering on Peter. She nodded. "All right. Off you go," she murmured thickly, trying to stay strong.

Without so much as another word or sign, Edmund, his brother, and their sisters picked up their suitcases and made their way through the crowd on the platform.

Peter had Lucy's hand, and when she halted, trying to pull back, trying to see their mother, the thirteen-year-old tightened his grip on her and leaned down, "Come on, Lucy. We have to stick together."

But Lucy shook her head fiercely, still trying to escape, still trying to run back to Mother.

"Come on," Peter encouraged, a bit firmer, pulling on her hand a little and gently but insistently dragging her towards the train.

Lucy, unable to continue her resistance, yielded and leaned against Peter's arm, starting to cry. "Everything will be all right. It's going to be fine," he soothed. "It's going to be fine."

The younger girl didn't seem quite able to believe him. And that wasn't a good thing.

Concerned, Edmund tried to drop back to Lucy and Peter, his heart panging, but Susan caught up his hand in a tight grip. Turning to her, he scowled slightly, unable to sign because both his hands were occupied—one by his suitcase and the other by his older sister's own hand. /I know how to get on a train by myself!/ he fumed silently. Never mind that his original intention had been to get to Lucy.

She ignored the scowl and continued to pull him along.

He wanted to resist—almost did—but remembered at the last moment what Mother had said about helping Peter.

Glancing backwards as they pulled to a stop, he look up at his brother…and felt a fresh wave of fear as he realized where Peter was looking.

A regiment of soldiers.

Edmund's breath caught in his throat and he glanced frantically at Susan. She was always the rational one, the smart one, surely she could…But Susan was facing forward, trying to look responsible and proper.

So Edmund glanced at Lucy, but his little sister was still sniffling and looking longingly back in the direction they had come from.

"Tickets! Tickets, _please_!" the female conductor's voice cut through the din surrounding them.

"Peter!" Susan hissed, reaching over and snatching the tickets from his hand with a well-measured glare, before turning back to the lady-conductor with a smile.

But she had released Edmund's hand, and Edmund took that opportunity to grab Peter's now free one, startling the other boy out of his disoriented daze.

His older brother smiled weakly at him, and the younger boy had to look away, eyes burning and swallowing hard. He tightened his hold on Peter's hand, offering a small, but genuine grin to Lucy who finally managed an equally small, and equally genuine one back. _'Mummy said we have to help him,'_ Edmund signed to her, briefly letting go of his brother's hand. _'And I can't do it alone.'_

Lucy's smile widened imperceptibly and she nodded, quickly swiping away the remnants of her tears. She would have signed back, but at that moment, the line they were in started to move.

Peter's hand came down on his shoulder and gently squeezed. "Come on, Ed, Luce." He tried to smile reassuringly down at them, but only managed halfway.

Peter looked incredibly insecure, which served to frighten Edmund just as much as the older boy's watching the soldiers had.

Wrapping his free arm around Peter's lower back, and clutching a handful of his traveling coat in a white-knuckled grip, Edmund pressed close to his brother's side—feeling far younger than his ten years of age—as the older boy bent and picked up his own suitcase.

The three of them followed Susan who led the way to the train, navigating through the crush of people.

When they at last reached one of the doors, Edmund released Peter and grabbed Susan's hand in an effort not to lose her.

At this, Susan turned and smiled lightly at him, finally seeming the sister he knew and not the grown-up one that had been trying to take her place for the last year or so.

But the moment passed, and she began leading him down the narrow path between train compartments, Peter and Lucy just behind them.

As they neared the midway point, however, Susan abruptly swerved her course—bringing Edmund with her—and made for one of the shut doors on the side with its window open.

Gently pushing Edmund in front of her, the two leaned out, the older girl surveying the platform beyond them for any glimpse of their mother.

"There she is!" she whispered excitedly to Peter and Lucy as the other two joined them. Then called, waving, "Mother!"

And Helen Pevensie smiled, waving as the train slowly pulled away and calling softly after it (and her children), "Good-bye, my dears."

"Bye, Mum, we'll miss you!" Peter called back, waving along with the girls.

"Bye, Mummy!" Lucy cried tearfully from beside him, trying to keep a brave face on—and managing quite admirably.

Edmund, though he couldn't speak or shout like the others, did manage to throw out one last, rapid series of signs, _'Bye, Mum! We love you!'_

But their mother caught it, and though she knew her children would never be able to see it, she signed back, _'Be safe, my darlings, be safe.'_

_Tbc._

_**Footnote:**_ All right :sheepish smile: I know Edmund's character is somewhat different here than in the movie or the books. Is it too far off the mark, or does it fit? I can't guarantee I'll change it, because this is how I need (and want him) to be in this fic. And I'm liking this side of him. But if I can change something, and still fit in the context of the story, I just might.

At any rate, keep an eye out for the next chapter!


	4. Helping Brother

_**Disclaimer**_ I own nothing in this marvelous universe; it all belongs to C.S. Lewis.

_**Note**_ Hi, everyone! Thank you for being so patient :grins:. I apologize—I know this update has been a long time coming, but here it is at last. I'm dabbling in most of my fandoms at the moment. Adding a chapter here, and adding a chapter there. My breaks are usually the easiest time for me to write, so that's what I'm doing (although, that doesn't mean I won't post the odd fic or chapter while I'm at school). Anyway, please enjoy!

_**Reviewers:**_ All _78_ of you, thanks!

_**Rating:**_ K+

_**Summary:**_ Edmund never met the White Witch. He found out about her from Mr. Tumnus on Lucy's second visit. He's also mute...Book and Moviebased

"**Speech"**

**/Personal Thoughts/**

'_**Sign Language'**_

_Those Who Speak_

_By Sentimental Star_

_Chapter Three: Helping Brother_

(Four Hours Later)

As their stop drew nearer, Edmund grew increasingly uneasy. Unable to sit still, he started uncertainly twisting his fingers together and almost constantly biting his bottom lip.

Peter startled him into jumping a few moments later by abruptly reaching across the narrow space between them in the train compartment and covering both his hands with his own larger one.

Edmund's eyes snapped up to lock on his brother's face, his hands immediately stilling their movement.

"Settle down, Ed," he ordered softly, his blue gaze holding his younger brother steady. "What has you in such a fuss?"

He winced as Edmund's nails suddenly dug painfully into the skin on the back of his hand as the ten-year-old grabbed it. _'Does the Professor know I can't speak? What if he doesn't? What will he say? How will he react? What if--?'_

"Whoa, Ed. Whoa, whoa, whoa," Peter interrupted, snagging both his younger brother's rapidly flailing (and signing) hands after setting down his book on the seat as the countryside sailed past them out the window. He smiled slightly into Edmund's worried dark eyes. "I'm sure Mum wrote him the moment he said yes. And Daddy's kept in touch with the Professor over the years, remember? He's probably known for a while now."

Susan looked up from her lap where she had been going over an old picture book of their mother's with Lucy. She smiled, "And even if he does not, he'll find out soon enough. You're practically normal, Edmund. We know that. And the Professor will know it eventually, too."

Edmund tried very, very hard not to give her a disbelieving look. That was _not_ reassuring, even though he knew she meant it to be. He was grateful for the attempt, at least.

Peter lightly squeezed his hands, garnering his attention once more. "It'll be perfectly fine, Ed."

Edmund scowled lightly at his older brother, pulling a hand free. _'Easy for __**you**__ to say,'_ he signed sourly. _'__**You're**__ not the one who is mute!'_

Peter's other hand tightened to an almost painful degree and Edmund found himself being glared at. "You aren't some sort of leper, Ed!" The younger boy winced as Peter's voice came dangerously close to cracking. "You still speak—with your hands, yes, but you _can_ speak! And he's a Professor, which means he's smart—he'll know all _about_ signing."

Lucy squirmed out from under Susan's arm and crawled over to Edmund's lap, forcing her younger brother to let go of Peter's hand which the thirteen-year-old drew away with a carefully concealed wince.

The ten-year-old for once didn't notice as Lucy had playfully bumped her nose against his. "Besides, I heard Mummy say that he was a perfectly lovely old gentleman." Susan coughed discreetly to hide her laugh, grinning at her little sister's seemingly unconscious usage of a very grown up phrase. Lucy either ignored her or didn't hear her, giggling as she settled herself more comfortably in her brother's lap, "You're being silly, Ed."

At last, Edmund rolled his eyes, grinning good-naturedly as he placed his arms around Lucy's waist and held her. Finally relaxing.

The reassurance of his siblings meant a great deal to Edmund, although he would probably never be able to tell them that. The last half hour of the train ride was therefore much calmer.

When the two younger ones drifted off and were dozing together, Susan gave Peter, who had picked up his book again, a look. "Let me see your hand, Peter," she ordered softly.

The older boy gave her an odd glance, turning away from the story's pages. "What are you on about, Su?"

She rolled her eyes impatiently. "You know very well what I'm 'on' about. Edmund was so nervous that he probably didn't notice, but his nails dug into your skin, didn't they? So let me see your hand."

Peter relented with a small scowl. "I'm perfectly fine, Su."

"Mmm," she murmured noncommittally, examining his hand. Five small, red, crescent-shaped bruises stood out against his pale skin. "And you didn't want Edmund seeing because you knew he'd fuss at you for trying to hide it."

Peter gave her a startled look. "How did you--?" he began.

"—know?" she completed, favoring him with a soft smirk. "You're not the only one he watches out for."

Peter bowed his head with a sheepish, slightly guilty smile. "It's strange, you know," he remarked quietly. The smile dropped and he sighed, grumbling, "_I'm_ the one that's supposed to take care of _him_."

Susan shook her head with a fond smile. "That's just Edmund for you."

The older boy nodded distractedly, reaching out to brush a few strands of dark hair from his brother's face as Susan carefully stood and retrieved hers and Peter's coats to spread over their younger siblings.

As she sat back down, she noticed Peter continued to card his fingers through Edmund's hair.

"Do you really think the Professor will be all right with this? Ed's not speaking, I mean," he asked quietly.

Feeling her chest tighten, Susan glanced out the window. Trees and the occasional brook or field swept by. "If he's not," she muttered darkly, brushing back a lock of Lucy's hair, "then I'll give him a piece of my mind."

Peter smiled grimly. "I'll let you do the talking, then."

They were silent for a few moments, letting the weight of their unspoken vow hover between them and settle. Then the older boy broke the silence, voice softening and fingers still tangled in their younger brother's hair, "Do you think Ed will get his voice back one day, Su?"

Peter's gaze remained locked on Edmund, so he did not see her one hand clench in the folds of her dress's skirt while the one smoothing Lucy's own dark locks began to shake slightly.

She did not answer.

Peter, fortunately, was not looking for one.

-I-I-I-I-I-I-I-I-I-I-

(Forty-Five Minutes Later)

The two youngest now awake, all four suitcases taken down and in hand, their traveling coats on, and both play boxes and gas-masks slung over their shoulders, the Pevensies finally stepped out onto the platform of a very small station called Coombe Halt.

They were the only passengers to get off, and the only ones on the station platform.

As the train shot away behind them, leaving a burst of hot wind in its wake, they found themselves feeling very alone, indeed.

A motor car could be heard rattling down the road. Quickly, the four children pattered down the steps and onto the side of the rutted country lane, Lucy raising her hand in a hello.

The motor car drove past, honking.

Lucy lowered her hand.

And uncertainty stole over the four siblings, as they glanced hesitantly down the road in one direction, and then in the other. No one came.

Susan frowned, looking at Peter as she spoke, "The Professor knew we were coming…" although she didn't sound quite so sure of that herself.

Edmund's brow furrowed. Tugging on Peter's sleeve, he signed, _'We couldn't have been incorrectly labeled, could we?'_

Peter bit his lip, trying to figure out what to say to that.

Before he had a chance, however, there came the faint sound of a rattling wagon and the clop of horse's hooves from down the road to the right. They were growing steadily nearer and louder until…

"Hup! Hup!" an older woman's voice called.

Within seconds, she, the horse, and the wagon had topped a rise in the road before pulling to a halt in front of the four children. She frowned down at them.

Peter glanced hesitantly up at her, daring a smile, as the two youngest subconsciously swallowed and held each other's hands. "Mrs…Macready?" came Peter's uncertain, but slightly hopeful inquiry.

The older woman kept frowning. /Does she even know _how_ to smile?/ Edmund wondered. "I'm afraid so," she replied, disapprovingly.

Clearly, she did _not_ like children. Or, at least, the idea of having children in the Professor's house.

Peter and Susan traded uneasy glances, Susan stepping up to put an arm around Lucy's shoulders.

The woman began speaking again, and she actually sounded surprised as she gave them another glance over, "Is this it, then? Haven't you brought anything else?"

Another exchange of glances between their older siblings, before Peter answered, "No, ma'am. It's just us."

Lucy gave what she hoped was an earnest nod, and Edmund was mildly startled when the older woman's face softened slightly. She raised her eyebrows at them. "Small favors," and tilted her head towards the empty back of the wagon. "Come along."

Shooting a glance at Susan, Peter placed a firm hand on Edmund's shoulder, guiding him over to the back of the wagon as the older girl took Lucy's own—which Edmund had been forced to drop.

Once they reached it, Peter released Edmund for a moment and, placing his suitcase on the ground next to the girls' at their feet, carefully picked up Lucy and gently deposited her in the box of the wagon, handing up her suitcase soon after. "There you go, Lu."

She gave him a timid smile, and Peter winced inwardly. This evacuation was not easy on any of them. But he wouldn't be able to show it because Edmund, Lucy, and Susan needed him to be strong.

A slim hand on his arm startled him out of his thoughts, and he turned—only to be met with a stern look in his little brother's dark eyes.

Peter bit back a small smile. Trust his younger brother to pick up on even the emotions he tried to hide. He went to place his hands on Edmund's waist, intent on lifting him the same way he had Lucy, but the ten-year-old stepped back with a light scowl. _'I can get on the wagon myself, you know,'_ the younger boy signed. _'You'll only hurt yourself if you try to lift me.'_

Peter bit down a little harder on his bottom lip, a grin threatening to break free. "Of course, Ed," he managed, carefully controlling his voice.

The other boy merely rolled his eyes warmly. Using his older brother's shoulder as a lever, he cautiously stepped onto the metal back-hitch, and toppled less than gracefully into the wagon.

Peter suddenly found the ground extraordinarily interesting, while Susan paid an inordinate amount of attention to the railway platform behind them. Lucy wasn't quite so restrained—a tiny giggle escaped.

Edmund's head popped up again and he scowled lightly at her, even though a small smile twitched at his lips. _'Oh, hush up, Lu,'_ he signed.

He was rewarded with a large grin.

Susan came up next, assisted by Peter and, to her slight surprise, Edmund. When she gave him a curious look, he merely smiled and shrugged.

Her luggage, Edmund's luggage, and Peter's luggage followed her up. Then Peter came after their bags, steadying himself by lightly gripping Edmund's shoulder and upper arm.

"Are you settled?" Mrs. Macready asked them with mild impatience.

Peter tensed. "Yes, ma'am," he replied neutrally.

"Hang on, then," she ordered brusquely, before addressing the white horse drawing the wagon, "Hup! Come on, Trixie! Hup!" and began turning them around.

-I-I-I-I-I-I-I-I-I-I-

(An Hour Later)

"Professor Kirke is not accustomed to having children in this house," Mrs. Macready intoned in what the four children would come to call her "lecture" voice (which she would use almost all the time when speaking with them). "And as such, there are a few rules you need to follow."

They were making their way through a simply enormous foyer, in a simply gigantic house, which Peter told his younger siblings was an old-fashioned manor. They looked around in awe at old suits of armor, tall, rich draperies, fencing foils, busts, portraits…the list went on. If Edmund had to be completely honest, it was rather intimidating. Hence why he stuck close to Peter and Lucy.

Mrs. Macready continued speaking as they climbed the grand, white marble staircase, "There will be no shoutin'." She paused briefly and glared at them, "_Or_ runnin'," before turning and going on her way, still speaking, "No improper use of the dumbwaiter…_No_ touchin' of the historical artifacts!" This yelled in clear shock, causing Susan, who had reached out to touch the nose of a bust in the center of the stair, to jerk her hand back and jump.

Lucy hid her giggle at the appalled look on the housekeeper's face and the startled look on Susan's, while Peter and Edmund simultaneously bit their bottom lips and exchanged amused glances.

Susan gave her three siblings a sheepish frown, but crisis had been averted for the moment, and the Macready, as they were rapidly coming to call the uptight housekeeper in their minds, resumed leading the way upstairs.

She actually stopped at the top of this flight and indicated the wooden door behind her, "And above all…there will be no disturbing of the Professor." Then she began to walk again.

Three of the four siblings started walking after her, but Lucy, a curious child by nature, paused and looked at the door, hearing footsteps shuffling across the floor beyond it. Before she could even venture a guess as to where they were headed, the light underneath the door was suddenly blocked by a pair of feet.

With a small, fearful gasp, she turned and hurried after her siblings. Within moments she had reached Edmund and, quickly latching onto his arm, gripped it in a strangle-hold.

Her brother started rather badly, looking down at her in shock. /Lu?/

Sensing his question, she fiercely shook her head and gripped his arm all the tighter, burying her face in his side.

Edmund heaved a silent, sad sigh, managing to rearrange his arm so that it settled around her shoulders. Gazing sorrowfully down at her brown beret, he wondered if any of this would ever turn out all right.

Mrs. Macready led them into a sizeable room on this level, indicating with a gesture of her hand that they were to put their suitcases down. Thinking it best to obey, and secretly relieved not to have to carry them around anymore—for the moment, at least—they did so, arranged around them with Susan next to Edmund and Peter behind him. Lucy still clutched his arm, glancing around with large, slightly fearful eyes.

"Now then," Mrs. Macready spoke up as she turned to face them, voice no-nonsense, "I was told one of you was mute. Is this true?" Her eyes did not look the least bit friendly as she asked this, and Edmund instinctively flinched back towards Peter, feeling terribly exposed and vulnerable.

Susan seemed to sense his discomfort and wrapped a protective arm around his shoulders. He shot her a grateful look.

Lucy, too, sensed his unease, and forgetting her own fear immediately, stood straighter and frowned at the housekeeper.

Peter, as the eldest and forever protective of his siblings, especially Edmund, stepped out in front of them, chin held high. His blue eyes were hard as he spoke up, "Yes, ma'am."

Unspoken by all three of Edmund's siblings was, _What about it?_

The housekeeper grimaced slightly. "I shall…try…to be patient with you."

Peter's eyes narrowed. "My brother is more than capable of understanding you, ma'am," he returned coolly, ignoring the somewhat alarmed look he felt his younger brother shooting at his back.

At the abrupt flash of anger in the older woman's eyes, Edmund quickly reached out and grabbed the back of his brother's traveling coat, vigorously shaking his head as Peter glanced over his shoulder at him.

The older boy frowned unhappily, but backed off, bowing his head to Mrs. Macready in the only apology he'd give.

The housekeeper pursed her lips, but nodded nonetheless.

Leave it to Susan to remedy the situation. "Not wishing to be rude, ma'am, but please understand, Edmund's our brother and not everyone accepts his condition as easily as you have," the older girl advised quietly.

Edmund turned and gave her a disbelieving scowl. /Easily? That's not what _I_ call easily/ he thought, glancing back at the housekeeper whose frown had not lessened any, but who also no longer looked quite so displeased. /I wonder if she ever _is_ pleased?/

A glance down at Lucy revealed she seemed to be thinking the same thing—her eyes had become uncertain and teary once more.

He gave her hand a tight squeeze. When she looked up at him with over-bright eyes, he gave what he hoped was an encouraging smile. _'Remember, Lu,'_ he signed with his free hand, _'I need you to be brave if we're to help Peter and Susan.'_

His little sister swallowed hard and nodded, straightening again.

Edmund found himself wishing he had the same resilience.

_Tbc._


	5. Coping

_**Disclaimer:**_ I own nothing in this marvelous universe; it all belongs to C.S. Lewis and Walden Media.

_**Reviewers:**_ Thank you all so much for your reviews, I truly appreciate them!

_**Author's Note:**_ Hi, everyone! Well, since I just watched _LWW_ again, I figured I better post the next chapter of this fic—especially since so many people have asked for it and, personally, I have several chapters that I'd _really_ like to get up. It also helps that there seems to have been a lack of Peter and Ed stories recently. I suppose everyone is enjoying the new playground that Walden Media gave us too much :winks, grinning:. So here you are, Peter and Ed (as well as a large helping of Lucy) fic to boot—I hope you enjoy!

_**Rating:**_ PG

_**Summary:**_ Edmund never met the White Witch. He found out about her from Mr. Tumnus on Lucy's second visit. He's also mute...(Book and Moviebased)

"_**Speech"**_

_**/Personal Thoughts/**_

'_**Sign Language'**_

_Those Who Speak_

_By Sentimental Star_

_Chapter Four: Coping_

(Later That Same Evening)

"_**The German Luftwaffe dropped bombs on London again tonight…**_" the radio announcer's voice rang out in the oddly silent bedroom, causing Peter to squeeze his hands into fists where he sat on the arm of a stuffed chair and gaze blankly out through the window at the swiftly darkening night. "_**Areas under fire include--**_" but the announcer's voice suddenly scrambled and quickly ceased.

Peter whirled around, sharp reprimand on his lips, to face Susan who had turned off the dial. She gave him a look and, frowning, indicated the single bed in the girls' room with a pointed nod of her head.

A faint sniffle broke the silence, before wordlessly being hushed.

Peter crossed the floor with Susan on his heels to sit on the mattress and offered a small smile to the two youngest Pevensies, who were cuddled together in the bed.

"The sheets are all scratchy," Lucy mumbled, voice tiny and picking listlessly at the unfamiliar fabric. Edmund's hand reached out and stilled it. She glanced at him, and he offered her a sort of half-smile which she attempted to return, before curling up a little closer to him.

Susan smiled faintly, holding onto the bedpost. "Wars don't last forever, Lucy. We'll be home soon."

As heavy silence cloaked the room, each child heard what she had left unspoken: _If home is still there._

When the silence became oppressive, Susan tensely smoothed her rumpled skirt and cleared her throat, raising an eyebrow at Edmund. "Isn't it time you were in bed?"

Edmund smirked—not unkindly—at her. _'I'm already __in__ bed,'_ he signed.

Susan rolled her eyes impatiently, a smile tugging at her lips in spite of her best attempts to suppress it. "Not _our_ bed, _your_ bed. You can cuddle all you want with Lucy tomorrow."

Edmund's smirk widened. _'Yes, Mum,'_ he mimicked warmly.

"_Ed_," Peter scolded lightly, his own grin threatening to break free.

Edmund merely continued smirking, and proved successful when an errant giggle escaped Lucy and Susan's fondly exasperated smile finally broke out on her face.

In the noticeably lightened atmosphere, Peter spoke up again, "In any case, you saw outside." His gaze swept all of his siblings, "This place is _huge_. We can do whatever we want here. Tomorrow's going to be great," his full attention returned to Lucy, "really."

A slightly larger and braver smile at last brightened Lucy's face. Even Edmund and Susan were eased. Peter, his big brotherly duty done for the day, relaxed.

The silence that settled over them then was rather more soothing. Soon enough, as Susan flitted about getting ready for bed in the background, and Peter and Lucy quietly began to talk, Edmund found himself drifting off to sleep.

With Lucy's warm body curled against him, and Peter's deeply reassuring presence hovering over them, Edmund was gone. Within minutes, he was soundly asleep.

When Susan came back from the bathroom, she lightly touched Peter's shoulder, drawing his attention from Lucy, and indicated the bed with a small smile. "Peter, perhaps you should head to bed. Ed's already out."

Both he and Lucy glanced at Edmund where the younger boy was curled snugly against the younger girl, breathing softly and eyes shut.

A slight, amused smile touched Peter's lips. "Maybe I should," he murmured. Slipping off the end of the bed, he padded around to the side Edmund was on and gathered his younger brother into his arms.

Edmund, still asleep, sighed quietly and lightly dug his face into Peter's neck.

Gently biting his bottom lip, Peter loosed a small chuckle. "All right, Eddy, let's go."

Recognizing his brother's voice even in sleep, Edmund's arms reached up and wrapped around Peter's neck.

The older boy's face eased dramatically, and he dropped a tender kiss on Edmund's forehead.

Bidding the girls a quiet "Good night," Peter carried him out of their sisters' room and into their own.

IOIOIOIOIOI

(The Next Day, After Lunch)

The worst of being in the countryside was that when it rained, you were cooped up inside with nothing to do and unless you were exceptionally creative, little could be done to pass the time.

That wasn't to say the Pevensies were unintelligent—in fact, they were a great deal brighter than many of their age-mates, able to see things that perhaps others were not, and able to understand concepts a little more fully than adults had come to expect of children.

But the war affected everyone. The Pevensies no less than anyone else. Childhood games and made-up stories had no place in a war-torn world—or, at least, that's how Susan and Peter viewed it. Not purposely; even Susan loved stories and games. But the environment they had been forced to live in for the past two years had done more than its share of damage to make-believe and silliness: their mother worked long hours as a seamstress in order to earn enough money for the family while their father was away fighting on the Continent, and Peter and Susan had taken on the roles of surrogate parents to their two younger siblings, trying their utmost—as Edmund and even Lucy did—to help out Mum.

Although he hated to admit it, Edmund thought that maybe some good could come out of being sent to the countryside after all—their older siblings would be forced to be children again. At least for a little bit.

It even seemed to be working. Susan had dragged her three (extremely bored) siblings into the sitting room a few hours after lunch (they'd explored the house as much as they dared earlier that day when they realized they'd be stuck inside) and proceeded to engage them in a guessing game of sorts, using an old, musty (very big) dictionary.

And it had worked…for about ten minutes. But Lucy soon grew bored again, and went to look out the window, while Edmund tried (without much success) to begin working on the kite he planned to give her for her birthday.

He'd found some old twine and several bits of wood, and had started fashioning the frame with Peter's pocket knife (which he'd borrowed), but he was a bit clumsy with the blade and accidentally nicked his left index finger.

His hiss of pain did not go unnoticed by Peter, who was dutifully submitting to Susan's quizzing. At the first indication that something had gone wrong, his older brother's hand immediately seized his own. The pocket knife dropped to the table with a clatter. "Ed, what _happened_?" the thirteen-year-old demanded, "Are you all right?"

Wincing as his arm was practically pulled from its socket (he was sitting in the chair across from the couch), Edmund struggled to sign as his one hand was held up for Peter's inspection, _'I'm fine, you git! Let go—you're hurting me!'_

Peter, apparently, did not notice, frowning as he studied Edmund's finger. He tugged on the younger boy's arm. "Come here a minute."

With a groan, Edmund stood and allowed himself to be drawn towards Peter. He had to remind himself repeatedly that he'd promised Mum to help Peter, that he would try to be patient with him, even if it _did_ mean letting him indulge in a fit of overprotectiveness every once in a while…

"You should have let me help," Peter sighed finally.

But _that_ was pushing it. Edmund scowled, and would have yanked his hand free of the older boy's hold had not his brother taken his handkerchief out of his pocket at that moment and wrapped it snugly around Edmund's finger when a trickle of blood started seeping from the tiny cut.

With a second irritated (but not _too_ irritated) groan, the younger boy let his forehead drop against Peter's shoulder, scowling into the fabric of his shirt, _/_No fair. Did he _have_ to go all worried on me?/

Peter seemed to know what he was thinking. Giving a soft chuckle, he tied off the handkerchief and gently pushed Edmund upright.

While the ten-year-old continued to scowl at him, Lucy, who had heard the commotion and came over to the couches to see what the matter was, now spoke up, "Is everything all right? What happened?"

Peter turned to her, sliding Edmund a small smile as the younger boy lost his frown and quickly moved to clean up the scattered parts of the kite, "Never you mind."

When Lucy pouted, Edmund mentally thanked his brother and made sure to be swift and discreet about sweeping away his project. He meant this to be a surprise for her, but knowing his sister…it would be difficult to keep it that way.

He sighed quietly as a disgruntled Lucy went back to her window-gazing and closed up the pocket knife. Handing it back to his brother with a faint smile, he started hunting around their immediate area for any sort of puzzle or board game he could engage his little sister in.

In the background, Susan struck up her guessing game again. "_Gastrovascular_, Peter."

Edmund bit back a smile as the older boy checked his groan. Clearly, even Peter's considerable patience had its limits.

"Come on, Peter, _gastrovascular_," their twelve-year-old sister repeated impatiently.

"Is it Latin?" he finally sighed, glancing at Edmund when the younger boy knocked his head against the wooden table in the center of the rug with a half-smothered yelp.

Grimacing lightly and rubbing the back of it as he straightened, Edmund happened to look up at that particular moment and catch the long-suffering look on his older brother's face. Smirking slightly, he decided it couldn't do any harm to rescue him from potentially dying of boredom. Making sure to catch Peter's eye, he signed, _'Yes, it's Latin. Latin for 'worst game ever invented.''_

Peter stifled his laugh as Susan, who had caught the brief exchange, scowled at them and slammed the dictionary shut.

Edmund held his hands up placatingly and signed, _'Come on, Su. Even you have to admit that guessing words from the dictionary _**_is_**_ a little desperate.'_

Susan groaned unhappily. "But what _else_ can we do?"

"We can play Hide and Seek," Lucy suggested hopefully, having rejoined them at the sound of the dictionary slamming shut.

Edmund raised an eyebrow. /That's…actually not a bad idea/ he thought.

Peter and Susan traded skeptical looks. "But we're already having _so _much fun," their older brother muttered, flopping back on the couch and conveniently missing the annoyed glare Susan shot at him.

"Come on, Peter, _please_?" Lucy prodded, tugging at his arm where it rested near her on the back of the couch. When Peter glanced at her, she poked out her bottom lip just the slightest bit. "Pretty please?"

Hastily smothering his laugh as he recognized the look and saw Peter beginning to crack, Edmund decided to help her out. Giving his older brother's side a gentle poke, before scrabbling his unwounded fingers against that same spot, the younger boy grinned as a ticklish Peter squirmed away with another laugh, _'Come on, Pete. It's not like there's anything better to do, and it's one of the best ideas she's had all day.'_ His grin widened when Lucy stuck her tongue out at him playfully, obviously having caught that last part.

Peter, helpless against the combined front of his youngest siblings, heaved a resigned sigh and looked at Lucy, "One…two…" He started grinning in spite of himself when a brilliant smile blossomed on the eight-year-old's lips. "Three…four…"

Laughing silently, Edmund grabbed Lucy's hand and the two of them took off running as Susan rolled her eyes and followed. It should be duly noted, however, that she soon passed by both of them.

"Five…six…seven…eight…nine…ten…"

Peter's voice carried through the hallways as his younger siblings scrambled for hiding places. Susan found the first one, pushing open the lid of a large, empty trunk and clambering inside.

'_Don't forget the lid, Su!'_ Edmund reminded her, throwing out a series of rapid signs as he and Lucy dashed past her.

She rolled her eyes again, but a fond smile lurked at the corners of her lips as she pulled the lid shut—making sure to keep it open a crack.

"Fifty-six, fifty-seven…"

Peter's voice followed them as he and Lucy clattered down the steps into the main foyer, and then up another set on the other side, darting into one of the many rooms that lined this hall. Catching sight of a floor-length curtain out of the corner of his eye, Edmund bundled the two of them behind it.

"Am I staying with you?" Lucy panted quietly, eyes sparkling and laughing softly, but unable to sign because he still held her hand.

Edmund paused, considering it, then shook his head and gently pushed her back out into the room with a warm grin. _'We have a better chance of winning if only one of us stays here. I'm sure you'll find a good hiding spot, but be quick about it! He'll be here soon.'_

Lucy rolled her eyes this time, but returned his grin and scampered off as he ducked once more behind the curtains and pressed his back against the wall.

"Eighty-seven, eighty-eight, eighty-nine, ninety, ninety-one, ninety-two…"

He heard the opening and shutting of a nearby door, and deduced correctly that Lucy had found her hiding spot.

"Ninety-seven, ninety-eight, ninety-nine, one-hundred!"

"I'M BACK! I'M BACK! IT'S ALL RIGHT! I'M BACK!"

Jumping at the sudden sound of Lucy's (rather loud) voice, Edmund hurriedly shoved aside the draperies and reached out to snag the corner of his little sister's sleeve as she darted past him. Pretty certain that Peter had heard her, but nonetheless wanting to make sure they both remained hidden, he grabbed Lucy from behind and covered her mouth, carefully hauling her back with him behind the curtains.

Keeping her quiet proved to be another matter.

Too excited to properly sign or remember they were in the middle of playing hide and seek (truthfully, she had forgotten all about it), she pulled his hand off her mouth with both of hers and looked up at him with a dazzling smile, "Oh, Edmund!" she gushed. "It was so wonderful, and magical, and—and—I had tea with a Faun and he was perfectly lovely, and there's a wood, and snow, and a Witch, and no Christmas, and it's all in a wardrobe, Edmund! A _wardrobe_! And--"

Edmund had no idea what she was going on about. She'd only been gone for a few minutes, if that, and certainly not long enough to have tea with _anyone_, let alone a Faun.

He _did_ know that if she kept chattering, Peter would find them within minutes.

"Here you two are!"

Make that seconds. Rolling his eyes in fond exasperation, he pulled Lucy out from behind the draperies Peter had thrown back to stand in front of their grinning older brother. "You know, I'm not sure you two have quite got the idea of this game!"

Undaunted, Lucy continued her chatter, "Oh, but, Peter, I've been gone for _hours_! There was a lamppost in a wood and the tea Mr. Tumnus made was delicious and--"

"Whoa, whoa, slow down, Lu!" Peter exclaimed, gently grabbing her shoulders and shooting a bewildered look at Edmund. His younger brother shrugged helplessly. "What?"

Lucy suddenly seemed to understand that neither of her brothers knew quite what to make of her at this moment, and subsided into honest confusion, "Weren't you wondering where I was?"

Edmund's eyebrow shot up. _'Isn't that the point of hide and seek, Lu?'_ he signed, just as bewildered as their older brother. Frankly, he was a little worried that Lucy had somehow hurt herself quite badly and, as a result, was now quite muddled.

"But…" she looked between them in utter puzzlement, and would have continued speaking had Susan not chosen to join them at that moment.

"Does this mean I've won?" the older girl asked with a slight grin.

"Possibly. But at the moment, I'm more interested in what Lucy is going on about," Peter replied, perhaps a bit too tightly.

Susan gave him a small frown before glancing around at the three of them, suspicion causing her to frown even more. "What she's 'going on about,' Peter? Whatever are you talking about?"

Peter hushed her. "Just listen a minute, Su." He turned back to Lucy, "All right, Lu, what wood? What 'Mr. Tumnus?' Who's he?"

"He's a Faun!" she exclaimed, her excitement rearing its head again.

"A _Faun_?" Susan repeated, scandalized, only now starting to understand how very queer this entire situation was turning out to be.

IOIOIOIOIOI

"There's nothing there, Lu. Just the back of the wardrobe, see?"

Those were the first words Susan spoke when she and Edmund emerged from the wardrobe a few minutes later, after they had entered the spare room and unlocked it. She and Edmund had climbed in, intent on exploring this wood that Lucy had been so excited about.

Now, she held back a few of the fur coats, and there, sure enough, was solid wood paneling, and no other wood of any sort.

Peter, who had remained outside the wardrobe with Lucy, now spoke up tersely, "One game at a time, Lu. We don't all have your imagination."

"But I wasn't imagining!" she exclaimed. "I was there! I had tea with Mr. Tumnus! I _saw_ the wood!"

"Yes, the wood in the back of the wardrobe, Lucy," Susan replied softly, and with no little exasperation.

Edmund, where he sat on the floor of said wardrobe with one knee pulled to his chest, frowned as he noticed Lucy's lower lip starting to tremble. It wasn't like his little sister to insist on such a fantastic thing being real, and certainly not with such stubborn determination as she displayed now. Peter and Susan clearly did not believe her, and Edmund feared they would accuse her of outright lying.

"Hadn't you better drop it now, Lu?" Peter added quietly. "You've had your fun, but--"

"I'm not lying!" she cried, and Edmund winced, noticing as he did so that tears were starting to snake down her cheeks.

"That's _enough_, Lucy," Susan responded tightly, seeing the tears and hating them, but angry enough to ignore them and walk out of the room before she could change her mind.

She left Lucy alone with the two boys. Desperate now, the younger girl spun on her brothers, "You have to believe me! It was there—I promise it was there! It's different now, but it really _was_ there!"

Peter's jaw locked. "Susan's right, Lucy," he advised her shortly. "That's enough."

He glanced once at Edmund, and then walked off.

Lucy and Edmund were left staring at each other. As she watched her younger brother, several more tears trickled down Lucy's cheeks. If even Edmund turned away from her—Edmund her best friend and constant companion, Edmund who had always believed in her no matter what—she would be heartbroken.

But Edmund did nothing of the sort. Standing, coming over to her, he put his arms around her shoulders and held her against his chest. A hand smoothed down her back and then fingers played across her spine, signing, _'I believe you, Lu.'_

That, and that alone, caused her to burst into tears.

_Tbc._


End file.
